


You Could Have A Throne

by hegottooclose



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Caning, Come Marking, Control, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Cutting, Dark Will Graham, Dom Hannibal Lecter, Dominance, Facials, First Meetings, Flogging, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgy, Other, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Rope Bondage, Rough Oral Sex, Seduction, Sub Will Graham, Submission, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-10-27 20:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20766404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hegottooclose/pseuds/hegottooclose
Summary: The first time Will attended Hannibal's famous masquerade ball, it was not so much a spectacle, as an unforgettable event.





	1. Chapter 1

It was his first masquerade, that much was painfully obvious. What a poor, skittish little thing that had crawled into the spider's web. Perhaps seeking adventure, some risqué tale of a dark stranger's attention that he could laugh about with his friends when the night was done. He should know better.

But Hannibal would never be an ungracious host. With that in mind, he approached the pretty young thing, caught sight of lovely blue eyes fringed by his black mask, which flared up and out in the fresh-horned style of a young buck, wrapped around his head, but could not hide the soft curls which framed his face. The glass of red wine in his hand had already brought a stain to his lips, and Hannibal, upon approach, reached up and thumbed at his soft lower lip, pulling it down to admire the smear of red.

The boy looked up at him, his eyes wide and pretty and obviously betraying his surprise at being approached so soon, but the party was just beginning to get underway and Hannibal had long-ago tired of the same slew of lambs that came to his door, bleating and starving for something dangerous and dark.

"You're new," he murmured, and the boy's cheeks flushed, a gorgeous pink that would rival that of any fine silk. Just begging for teeth, to rip him open and show everyone what he was truly made of. His eyes were beginning to turn black, pupils growing wide and large within his iris, and he freed himself from Hannibal's hand, looked down at his wine, and swallowed harshly.

"I suppose it's obvious to the host," he replied. Ah, so at least he was not completely out of his depth – to know Hannibal on sight was a point in his favor. At least he was not foolish enough to wander into a lion's den without knowing who the leader of the pride was.

Hannibal gifted him with a warm, charming smile, pleased when it was met with another furtive glance, a foolish show of his long throat and a small twitch of fingers around his glass. "Are you here for curiosity's sake, or participation?" he asked.

The boy's eyes lifted again, his tongue brushing feather-light along his lower lip. "What would participation entail?" he asked.

"If you have to ask, then I'd advise you to stick to curiosity."

Those lovely eyes flashed with indignation, his chin lifted, and he angled his body towards Hannibal. What a curious little thing; one of the lambs thinks it has fangs. "Do you mean to frighten me?" he demanded.

He smiled, wide enough to bare his teeth. "Not frighten, darling, of course not," he replied, and brushed his knuckles down the boy's blushing cheek, pleased when he startled, and grew tense. "But I cannot control how you react to truths. There are wolves among us, after all, who would like nothing more than to feast on something as sweet as you."

"I can handle wolves," the boy replied, his eyes lifting to admire Hannibal's own mask, the long-jutting horns spread out in a cruelly shaped crown of his own. "It's the demon, I think, I should be wary of." There was just enough bite in his voice that warned Hannibal from getting too familiar, just enough tremor in his hands to sharpen Hannibal's teeth.

Hannibal smiled, delighted to finally come across a lamb with fighting spirit. He cupped the boy's chin and lifted him until their eyes met again. "Tell me your name," he commanded.

"Will," came the reply.

Hannibal nodded, and pulled him close, until he could breathe in Will's scent – sweet, utterly so, like sugared green tea, blackberries, things made for wilderness and magic. "You may choose one companion, tonight," he said, pleased when Will shivered, his breath catching, his body utterly still. He took Will's hand and held it open, pulling out the blade tucked into his pocket and sliced a thin, clean line through his palm. Will winced, hissing at the pain, his fingers curling as Hannibal gripped his hand tightly, and rutted his thumb over the cut until blood coated it, fresh and red.

He pushed his thumb up Will's bare arm, and wrote the word 'One' along his delicate wrist, before letting Will's hand fall. He lifted his thumb to Will's face, gripped him tight by the nape and pressed it against his mouth, his lips parted with surprise and easy to force himself between, and waited until Will sucked him clean, before he smiled, and withdrew it.

"Choose wisely," he murmured, and kissed Will's forehead, lips brushing the skin-warm leather of his mask. "We are a possessive lot." Will gaped at him, eyes wide, and Hannibal smiled and gave him one last nod, before he took his leave.

He found that the red queen was eyeing them, and she gave him a welcoming smile, lifting her drink in greeting. Scotch, he noted, with a lemon twist. "You must be more kind to the sweet ones, Hannibal," she told him, her red-painted lips stretched wide in a repressed laugh. "I fear you will scare him off, otherwise."

"I grow weary of the same meat, over and over again," he told her. His eyes tracked back to the boy, to Will, finding him already engaged in conversation with the puck. One of Hannibal's personal favorites – he was once a sweet young thing too, before Hannibal got his teeth in him. Now he bore marks brazenly, showed his skin in an obvious enticement. Hannibal watched, as the puck laughed and brushed his hand down Will's arm, his smile wide beneath the half-mask that shielded the upper part of his face. Hannibal's eyes narrowed; of course, he had neither the desire nor the authority to forbid his guests from indulging as they saw fit, but he would have hoped Will's inclinations and standards were a little higher than simply the first person to show him attention.

The red queen laughed again, sipping at her scotch. "You are so obvious," she said to him in a whisper. Hannibal arched a brow, and turned to regard her. "Keep up your staring and no one will dare approach him – they will think he is intended for your sport."

Hannibal smiled at her. "Perhaps I am in need of some distraction then," he replied. "Are you offering?"

She regarded him, her lips pursing in consideration, and then looked down to the 'two' marked along her wrist, and the two slices laid into her palm. After their first visit, Hannibal's guests were expected to uphold their number – some of them chose to use markers before arriving, others still went so far as to tattoo or brand themselves to cement their allotted permissions. Hannibal didn't care much for the latter; it spoiled their meat irreparably, to mar their bodies in such a permanent way.

He waited for her to make her decision, and then she shook her head and gave him a charming smile. "I want to wait until my little fawn arrives," she replied, and Hannibal nodded, remembering the slight, delicate, and altogether beautiful fawn that had caught the red queen's eye when she first began attending the masquerades.

"Perhaps you will indulge me with a show then, once she is here."

"Of course!" the red queen replied with another light laugh. She finished her drink and set the empty glass upon a nearby table, dabbing delicately at her lipstick. "I will go outside to see if she will be here shortly. Happy hunting, friend."

He nodded, and stepped back to allow her to pass in a swirl of red fabric. One of the rules of his masquerades was no phones were to be used inside his home – though everyone here wore a mask, it was polite not to record or photograph whatever desires his guests felt free to indulge in within the confines.

Once again bereft of companionship, and a suitable distraction, Hannibal made his rounds of the party. He was greeted with warm smiles and the occasional brush of hands along his coat, pretty things pit against one another for a shred of his attention, which he was always willing to give in spades. He passed through one of the lounging areas, admiring the sight of two women entwined on one of the couches, one of them in the lap of a man and riding him fiercely as the second touched her and worked her to orgasm. Another pair were pressed against the bookshelf, a man and woman kissing and touching each other in preparation for penetration. The air stank of that unique musk of sex, and he breathed it in greedily, and passed on once he was sure everyone was still engaging in enthusiastic, consensual play.

The next room had a bed, a beautiful young boy spread out wide on it and clearly well-used, if his red and leaking rim were any indication. Hannibal watched as one man finished with him, grunting in release, and a second stepped up to take his place, sliding into the boy and earning a rough, eager moan from him. His lips pursed, and he looked to the first man as he wiped sweat from his brow and tucked himself back into his clothes.

"How many has he had?" he asked, looking at the painted 'three' on the boy's arm.

The man nodded to the second man, who had already begun a brutal pace inside the boy's limp body, using him terribly as the boy whimpered and moaned and arched up to meet his thrusts. "This is his last."

Hannibal nodded, but made a mental note to check back on the boy, and moved on.

He found himself in the upper rooms, standing on one of the balconies and gazing out into the stretch of streetlights and black canvas that made up the nighttime of suburbia. He breathed in, and smiled to himself, catching that blackberry scent. He turned, and his smile widened at the sight of Will. He looked the same as when Hannibal left him, albeit a little more disheveled, his hair sticking out wildly around his horns and his cheeks so red he looked like he may have been cut, for how dark they were stained.

"You throw quite a party," he said in greeting. He had swapped out his wine for brandy, the overly sweet and smoky scent of the alcohol hitting Hannibal's nose as he approached, and joined Hannibal in leaning on the railing, looking out.

"It is certainly popular," Hannibal replied. "How are you liking it?"

Will swallowed. "It's…" Hannibal waited while he paused, prepared for any number of descriptors; he had heard them all. He had heard wild, indecent, sexy, indulgent, intriguing, satisfying, freeing. "It's fascinating."

That was a new one. He tilted his head and let out a quiet, curious hum.

"I find the interplay, the social dynamic, fascinating," Will explained. "The anonymity is one thing, except everyone seems to know each other so well." He looked to Hannibal. "You asked me my name, and told me your own, and it might be a lie, but it's still something to associate you with. It's…honest. But I don't even know what you truly look like."

"It would be a terrible masquerade if you did," Hannibal replied with a smile. "I have found that, when given a mask, people are more inclined to show their true natures."

"And what is your true nature?" Will asked him. "Most people like you would be neck-deep in the perversion, the gluttony of it all, but everyone I've spoken to has told me you are very selective with your 'companions'."

Hannibal sipped at his wine, and gave the question some thought. "Are you a keen study of human nature, Will?" he asked.

"I dabble," Will replied with a bird-stuffed cat kind of smile. He really did have a lovely smile, off-angle and putting dimples in his red cheeks. Lovely, truly, and even more so when he was clearly so relaxed in Hannibal's company. "But you didn't answer my question."

"I daresay you already have an answer," Hannibal said with a teasing tone, straightening to regard Will fully.

Will hummed, and lowered his half-lidded gaze to Hannibal's chest, then to his stomach, then up again to meet his eyes. "I think you're the kind of man who likes knowing what people are really like," he said after a while. "You know everyone who shows up here – you have to, as the host, but you _really _know them, no matter how they try to disguise themselves."

Hannibal smiled, and gave a single nod in agreement.

"Following that logic, and forgive me for stating it so plainly, but I have to draw the conclusion that you have a type. Not a physical one, because otherwise this masquerade would be useless, but something that appeals to your other senses, without exception."

"You are very keen-sighted, Will," Hannibal said. "I cannot find a single fault with your reasoning."

Will smiled, and looked down at his glass of brandy. He swirled the dark liquid around and brought it to his lips with a thoughtful hum. "I suppose all that's left to deduce is what, exactly, your type is."

"Oh?" Hannibal asked, raising a brow. "Why do you ask?"

Will's eyes met his, and within them Hannibal saw something dark blinking back. "Curiosity," he purred.

Hannibal's head tilted. "You have permission to partake with any one of the guests," he said evenly. Not as a means to scold, but Will's keen sight was a delicious thing, and Hannibal had always been prone to indulgences. It wouldn't do good to damage him on his first night here. "Surely your time could be better spent in the company of one who is…easier to read."

Will laughed, at that, and took a drink. "Why would I settle for a commoner when I could have the king?"

Hannibal blinked at him. "Ah," he said, smiling wide enough to show his teeth. "So you mean to seduce me, is that it?"

"Only if seducing you is a profitable endeavor," Will replied. "And a possible one." He lowered his glass, tilted his head, and gave Hannibal another one of his lopsided, sharp-edged smiles. "Is it possible, or should I set my sights somewhere less lofty?"

Hannibal lifted his chin, and set his glass down on the wide edge of the balcony railing. He took Will by the chin, pulling him forward, and Will went with a little stumble, his eyes widening as Hannibal brought their bodies close. Hannibal smiled, and forced Will's head to one side, baring his arched throat that flexed as he swallowed.

"Leave this room and stay out of trouble," he commanded, watching with pleasure as Will's pinkening skin broke out in a wave of gooseflesh, a shiver running down his spine from Hannibal's proximity. Arousal coated Will like adding honey to him, so sweet it was all Hannibal could do not to part his jaws and steal a taste. "We will discuss your lofty ambitions later, when the rest of the guests have left, provided you have not succumbed to your curiosity elsewhere."

He released Will, pushing him back, so his hip knocked against the railing and made Hannibal's glass wobble in place. Will gasped, staring at him wide-eyed, but there was a challenge in his gaze now, a ferally proud glint that looked very close to triumph. He smiled, and recovered himself, and gave Hannibal a single, demure bow of his head.

"Have a good night, Hannibal," he murmured, and departed from the room, closing the door behind him. In his wake, he left traces of his scent, that sweet wildness that bade Hannibal give chase – but he was not a man so easily won over, and would not be so easily tempted.

He smiled into his drink, and returned his attention to watching the streetlights. Then, upwards, to the stars, until his glass was finished, and he left the room with the door opened, revealing it as empty to anyone who might want to use it, and went back downstairs to seek further entertainment and refreshment.


	2. Chapter 2

Once his glass was refilled with wine, Hannibal did his second tour of his home, making sure all the gathered guests were still enjoying themselves to the best of their abilities. Some were the sort to let melancholy follow them no matter what the distraction, but he paid them no mind. He passed through the room where the tier three boy had been, glad to see that the scene had apparently come to its natural end. His spectators and studs of the night had all dispersed, and the boy was curled up in a wide, plush leather armchair, a thick blanket wrapped around his naked body, his short-cropped hair and red face peaking out around his mask.

It was with another surprised, pleased flicker of warmth, that Hannibal realized the boy was not alone. Will was with him, holding his head against on thigh, his face cupped and Will stroking his fingers through the boy's sweaty hair as he recovered.

Will's eyes lifted, and met his. His lips twitched in one of those charming, full-catted smiles. He made no move to rise, or welcome Hannibal closer, but Hannibal could recognize the gentleness in Will's hands, the lax and trusting posture of the boy as he was petted, and felt no compulsion to intervene.

Hannibal returned his smile with a gracious nod, and continued on. It was approaching the end of the night, as everyone found their individual limit – contrary to what people may think, Hannibal did not choose their companion numbers purely at his whim. One of his many skills was to look at someone and know how far they could be stretched, how much attention they would be able to handle receiving before they were spent. Those that came for closeness found satisfaction in the implicit intimacy of only one partner per night. Those that had deeper wells and larger appetites never left empty.

If pressed, he would admit, following that logic, that he had seen a ravenous hunger in Will, and would have given him a higher number if this wasn't clearly his first time in such a setting. But he could not fault himself for his choice, after his conversation with the boy; Will clearly had set his attentions on Hannibal, and if he were to succeed in winning Hannibal's regard, he would be thankful for his low number by the time Hannibal was done.

Hannibal had a habit of wearing his companions to the bone, so that they could barely breathe by the time he was finished with them. It would be interesting to see if Will could bear him, in the end. A rare victory that Hannibal, the more he thought about it, found himself more and more eager to test for possibility.

Strange; it appeared Will had managed to capture his attention quite capably after all.

He found the red queen with her little fawn in the dining room, the table cleared of refreshment so that the queen could take her seat at the head of it unburdened. She smiled at Hannibal as he approached, and lifted her head so they could exchange fond kisses on the cheek.

"I'm glad to see you arrived safely, little one," he purred to the fawn, touching his fingertips gently to her pink-edged, round cheek. She smiled up at him, having come here enough to get past the natural fear he instilled in the sweeter guests. She was smart to be nervous around him, and smarter still to find comfort and protection beneath the red queen's hand.

"Can I get either of you something to drink?" he offered.

The fawn's pretty jade-gem eyes landed on her mistress, and she set her chin upon the queen's thigh and let out a little bluster of need.

"Perhaps some water," the queen replied with a smile, and looked up at Hannibal again. "Nothing for me."

Hannibal nodded, and left his drink with her, going to the kitchen to fill a glass with cool water. No ice, in case the darling girl was so thirsty she drank it too quickly. He returned and gave it to the queen, another kiss on the cheek exchanged. Perhaps he had tarried too long upstairs, or perhaps they were not in the mood to indulge in more carnal pleasures tonight, but he sensed there would be no show after all.

It was no matter; Hannibal was more than content to busy himself making sure the rest of his guests were taken care of.

He straightened again as he heard a commotion break out, and hurried from them to find that the puck had, apparently, found his companion for the night. He was locked in a brutal dominance battle on the floor of the next room, his legs wrapped around the back of a minotaur as the bull-headed man fought his way between his thighs and penetrated him. The puck's teeth were bared, his nails scratching sharp red lines down the beast's back as he was mounted, until, with a shiver, he went lax, succumbing to his bull's voracious appetite. Hannibal's head tilted, and he stood in view of the puck, waiting for any signs of true discomfort.

He found none, and then his attention was taken as that sweet, wild blackberry scent filled his lungs. Will came to him as a shadow, melting from the darkness of the next room. His eyes narrowed upon the display in front of him, and Hannibal wondered if he, too, was looking to make sure the rough coupling was consensual.

Then, his eyes met Hannibal's, and he gave him a smile as sweet as his scent, and approached.

"I was told to thank you for loaning me to Randall," he said lightly. There was more drink in his hand, three fingers of deep-colored malt whiskey. It brought a tang to his exhale and made his pupils grow wide and unfathomably dark. He sipped at his drink, chasing the taste with a swipe of his tongue. "He seemed under the impression that you told me to take care of him, after. I would have corrected him, but curiosity got the better of me."

Hannibal smiled. "There are some of my friends whose purpose it is to be my eyes, where I cannot see," he replied with a nod. "To make sure people are keeping to their numbers, and to break up any unwanted displays of affection."

Will's eyes flashed darkly in the low light. "Does that happen often?"

"Which?"

"Both."

Hannibal's lips thinned out, and he released a soft breath. "In the beginning, yes, it happened quiet often, but I have zero tolerance for those who would break the rules."

"Your rules, you mean."

Hannibal laughed. "They are one and the same, in this house."

Will hummed, and took another drink, his eyes closing in a slow blink as he savored the flavor of his whiskey. "I don't think that's true," he finally said. "I think your rules carry on, at least for you, and those that break them meet a…swift end."

Hannibal lifted a brow.

"You seem like the kind of man who has a certain social presence. I imagine being cut from your inner circle is a fate worse than death."

"And climbing into it is a daunting endeavor," Hannibal countered, turning to face Will more fully. Will's chin lifted, as though in challenge, giving Hannibal another glimpse of his lovely, unmarked neck. He would look beautiful covered in bruises, Hannibal thought, and felt his mouth flood with saliva at the idea. "Am I correct in assuming you still would like to try?"

"Am I correct in saying it seems I already have?" Will replies with another charming smile. His first glass of wine had colored the inside of his lips, making it look like there was fresh blood between his teeth.

Hannibal did not want to admit it, but inwardly, he couldn't help but agree. He had never bothered hiding his intended for the night from anyone else; often, it was the case he had picked out his companion for the night as soon as they arrived, and the rest of his guests were sharp-eyed enough to know a marked man or woman when they saw one.

In front of them, the bull had finished, spilling into the puck with a loud grunt. He pulled out, leaving his companion bereft and aching, a pitiful whine punched from him that made even Hannibal tense in sympathy.

His chin lifted. "Your first task," he said, and nodded to the puck. "Take care of him."

Will's eyes flashed. "Does this count towards my number?"

Hannibal smiled, and shook his head.

Will's gaze was sharp with challenge, and he set his drink down, prowling from Hannibal's side and towards the puck where he still lay, prone and leaking on the floor. He offered the other man a small smile, and knelt by his head, leaning down to whisper something in his ear. The puck nodded frantically, pawing at Will's wrists, and Will's smile widened. He gripped the puck's hips and angled him so that his head was towards Hannibal, and slid into place between his shaking thighs.

He met Hannibal's eyes for a long moment, as though waiting for that final nod of permission, which Hannibal was happy to give. Then, without hesitation and with no regard for foreplay, Will leaned down and swallowed the puck's leaking cock, causing him to arch up and howl in pleasure, gripping Will's clothed shoulders fiercely.

Will took him capably, lips bruising and cheeks turning a dark blush-red as the puck fucked his mouth, graceless and desperate. Will pressed his hips down, ruining his throat on his companion's cock, making the red flesh glisten with his spit. One of his hands dipped inward, and Hannibal knew the precise moment he pushed his fingers in, as the puck cried out raggedly, hips juddering and thighs flexing around Will's shoulders as he worked him closer to orgasm.

When he came, Will pulled off so that none of it got in his mouth, angling his cock by the base so he coated his own stomach instead. Hannibal's head tilted, wondering if Will preferred not to swallow, or if some part of him figured Hannibal would rather his mouth be untainted when Hannibal decided to claim him. It stirred some satisfied thing inside him, to know Will would be unsullied, unblemished.

Will smiled down at his companion, gently fingering him through his orgasm until he went lax, whimpering and shivering with relief. Will withdrew his fingers and wiped them on a patch of skin unmarred by his come, and crouched next to his head, petting through his sweaty hair and shushing him quietly as he recovered.

Then, meeting Hannibal's eyes, and loud enough to hear, he leaned down and said; "Thank your host for letting me take care of you."

Hannibal's upper lip twitched in a snarl, as the puck's wide, pleasure-glazed eyes met his, head tilted back so he could meet Hannibal's fevered gaze. "Thank you, my lord," he gasped, fucked-out and dazed. Despite himself, Hannibal could only find the wherewithal to smile at him, and gave him a nod of acceptance.

Will cupped the other man's head, lifting him so that he could rest on Will's thigh, still petting through his hair with soothing touches and low murmurs of praise. Hannibal turned to take Will's glass, and approached him, leaning down to give it back to him.

"Come to the dining room when he's recovered," he commanded, and Will nodded. He looked lovely like that, on his knees, staring up at Hannibal with dark, plaintive eyes. It was a small kindness, and an indulgence Hannibal had no problem giving, as he took Will's chin in his hand and gave his hair a tender kiss. "You did well."

Will's breath left him in a happy sigh, and Hannibal parted from the pair with one last smile. The party was winding down, everyone having already left, satisfied for the night, or getting close to it. He found the red queen where he'd left her, her fawn tucked tight between her legs and lightly dozing. He took his seat on her right-hand side.

She fixed him with an arched brow. "Where is your new pet?" she purred, smiling at him as she took a drink.

Hannibal smiled. "Proving himself," he replied. "Quite admirably, I must admit."

She laughed. "Perhaps I should start herding the sheep away, to give you some privacy," she said, her free hand dropping to absently pet through the soft, dark curls splayed around her fawn's neck and shoulders. The girl gave a delighted little shiver, nuzzling her mistress' thigh, but made no other sound.

"There is no rush," Hannibal said, and that much was true. If Will's patience gave out before Hannibal claimed him, then it was another test for him to fail.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Will appeared in a cloud of his sweet scent, and Hannibal lifted his chin, meeting his eyes. Will's gaze swept across the table, dark and brilliant, clearly assessing. He looked at the queen and the fawn and gave them both a light bow, before he circled the table and came to a halt at Hannibal's side.

Hannibal looked up at him, and wondered if Will would assume that he was to kneel in the same way. Or if he would stand, until given further instruction. Perhaps he would simply take the seat next to Hannibal and claim his status as an equal to him and the queen.

In the end, he chose to ask; "How would you like me?" His voice held a subtle edge, as if daring Hannibal to command him to kneel. The little wolf was flexing his claws and showing his teeth. Delightful.

Another test, Hannibal could admit it was that. "However you'd like," he replied.

Will's eyes flashed, his nostrils subtly flaring. He nodded, as though to himself, and to Hannibal's surprise and utter delight, he turned to the red queen and brought himself low, not quite kneeling, but in a submissive crouch, his thighs tensed and his head bowed. She blinked at him, and smiled, and reached to pet through his hair.

"A pleasure to meet you," she said.

"And you," Will replied. "Forgive my intrusion; I was commanded to come here."

"It's no trouble, sweet boy," she replied, smiling wider and giving Hannibal a conspiratorial wink over Will's head. Will straightened when she was done petting him, and he circled behind Hannibal's chair, and pulled the next one over, out. He sat, not slouching but definitely more lax than Hannibal would expect from a newcomer, and settled with a quiet sigh.

Hannibal's head tilted in consideration. From the way Will placed himself, he could easily be ignored. Not so, had he chosen to kneel at Hannibal's feet and nuzzle wantonly at his thigh, or pushed himself under the table and tried to make himself comfortable between his knees like the fawn for her mistress. No, Will had, spectacularly, chosen an action that put him on somewhat equal footing with Hannibal and the queen, but without challenge.

Of course, all were welcome to sit at the table, to dine and converse as they pleased, but Hannibal was no fool, and knew exactly what Will was doing.

Will was so _intriguing_, breathtaking in his prowess and ability to navigate a room. Hannibal's mouth flooded with saliva all over again, and he swallowed, and turned away to look at the queen again. Her eyes were bright with satisfied pleasure, and she grinned openly at Hannibal, petting once again through her fawn's hair.

"I daresay this night is only going to get more interesting," she mused lightly.

"Yes," Hannibal replied with a nod, sipping his drink. He did not miss how Will shivered at the sound of his voice, and how he performed in mimic, tracing his fingers around the edge of his glass, lifting it as Hannibal did. Drinking as Hannibal did. A mirror image, matching Hannibal's actions perfectly. Hannibal smiled. "I believe it is."


	3. Chapter 3

The red queen was the last to leave, with her fawn. Hannibal rose as she did, helping the darling girl to her feet as the queen busied herself with clearing their glasses and fetching their coats. He left Will at the table and walked with them to the door, one last kiss on the cheek exchanged, as well as a promise that the fawn would text them both when she arrived home safely. She was the kind of girl people grew worried about when she went silent.

Hannibal closed the door behind them. Then he locked it. He did not rush back to Will, though part of him was eager to see what the boy would do now that they were alone. Instead, he navigated through his house, picking up stray, abandoned drink glasses in various stages of emptiness, correcting off-kilter pillows and gathering blankets and sheets into neat piles to be washed.

He made sure no one was upstairs, hiding away or dead to the world in their post-coital bliss, and once he confirmed that the house was, indeed, empty save for himself and his delightful new friend, he went back downstairs.

Will was not in the dining room, and Hannibal frowned, head tilting as he heard running water coming from his kitchen. It was not a place his guests normally went, knowing it was more of a staging area and off-limits if they wanted to play or talk, but of course, Will wouldn't know that.

He found Will at the sink, an array of glasses spread out along the counter, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the sink full of steaming, soapy water. He was cleaning them, and Hannibal let out a small huff of surprise, adding his handful to the mess.

Will's eyes flashed to his from the corner, but he did not pause in his work. Hannibal smiled. "Making yourself at home, I see."

"It's polite," Will replied, neither defensive nor apologetic. Perhaps he knew he shouldn't be here, but refused to back down, now that he was. "And there are a lot."

Hannibal nodded, and, lacking anything else to do, he made himself busy with returning the glasses Will had cleaned to their proper place, drying them as he went. Most went into various cupboards in the kitchen, the finer glassware returned to the cabinet by his liquor station in the dining room. By the time they were done, it was late enough in the night to almost be the next morning, and Will turned off the water and let the sink drain, taking Hannibal's damp dishtowel and wiping his hands and forearms dry upon it.

He set it out so that it could dry on the counter, and turned, meeting Hannibal's eyes once more. Still flushed adorably, his irises swallowed by his pupil so there was only a thin ring of blue. The scent of dish soap and brandy clung to him, along with the vague musk of honey-sweet sex.

Hannibal took his chin in a tender grip, and Will's shoulders dropped, his bare and pink throat displayed so brazenly. He was as open for perusal as any work of art, his breaths overly-even like he was forcing himself to make them so. Yet, when Hannibal's hand flattened and mapped the lovely slope of his neck, he found Will's pulse flying.

"Thank you, Will," he murmured. Will's lips pressed together, still bruised from the puck using his mouth, and gave another demure nod. Hannibal's gaze raked over his face, up the mask to his young horns, admiring the halo of his wild hair in the harsh kitchen light.

"I should send you home," he murmured. To his credit, Will's only reaction was to swallow, pulse fluttering under Hannibal's hand. "I daresay you've had too much to drink, though."

Will's eyes flashed, and his lips quirked up in a smile. "I can drive," he replied, and added in answer to what Hannibal had not said; "I can consent."

Hannibal's brows lifted.

Will swallowed again, and stepped back. His hands didn't shake, nothing about him betrayed unsureness or hesitation, as he slipped his fingers beneath the edges of his mask and pushed it up, over his head, the strings falling limp as he set the mask on the counter. Though it had not obscured much of his face, all things considered, Hannibal's breath left him as he was finally given a view of the entirety of Will's face. His brows, thick and dark as his hair; the pale stretch of his forehead that was then partially obscured as he ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall naturally in a delicious sweep of curls. His nose, thicker than Hannibal anticipated from the rest of his fine features; a soft bulb hinting at an old break, perhaps, but only served to make him look wild, like something that could put up a fight. His cheekbones appeared sharper without the mask to obscure them, and Hannibal's fingers curled, tips rubbing together, as a sudden urge to touch them overcame him.

He resisted, barely. Without the mask Will's eyes appeared brighter, took on shades of emerald and gold, and he blinked, and stared at Hannibal openly.

"I don't feel the need to hide from you," he said.

Hannibal pressed his lips together, his teeth feeling abruptly too sharp. "Suggesting that this is your true nature?" he asked.

Will smiled, and without the mask Hannibal could see how his eyes crinkled at the corners, his dimpled cheeks bulging. He scratched his fingers over the small indents the mask had left on his forehead and cheeks, and lifted his shoulders in a lax, cavalier shrug.

"It's not a suggestion," he said. "I am who and what I am."

And Hannibal could not deny, meeting Will's eyes, that that was the most honest thing he had ever heard.

His decision had been made. Perhaps it had been made the first time Will showed his teeth. He gathered Will's mask in one hand, Will's hair in the other, and pulled him from the kitchen. Will went, graceful as a loyal, tamed beast, and followed Hannibal from the kitchen. Through the dining room, as Hannibal turned the lights off. Up the stairs and into the bedroom in which they had had their first conversation about honesty and seduction.

He let Will come to a halt, and set the mask down on one of the chest of drawers. There were implements in that chest, which Will would find out about soon enough. Will's breath came in slow, steady, his shoulders low and relaxed, his fingers rubbing, fidgety, against his thighs.

"You will hide nothing from me," Hannibal commanded. Will lifted his eyes, and nodded. Hannibal's brows lifted, and he tilted his head expectantly.

Will's expression smoothed out in understanding, and he smiled down at his feet as his hands rose, first rolling down his sleeves, and then unbuttoning the buttons of his shirt. It was black, all of Will's clothes were black, highlighting just how pale and fine he was beneath. Will's throat, his shoulder, was bared first, rakish like Hannibal had just walked in on a virgin bride undressing herself. He was skinnier than his clothes suggested, his ribs standing out starkly with every inhale as he removed his shirt. He folded it, and set it beside his mask.

His belt came next, unhooked and unthreaded in a practiced move. Nothing about Will's undressing was done to tease, or taunt. He did it, Hannibal sensed, a little more carefully than he would if he were alone and in his own home, but not for the sake of a show.

Will's belt, socks, and trousers joined the pile, his shoes tucked neatly against the dresser, on the floor. He wore tight-clinging, black underwear, and after a single moment of hesitation, shed those as well, so he was bare and exposed to Hannibal's ravenous gaze.

Once the final article of clothing left his hands, Hannibal smiled at him, and circled him slowly. Despite his skinniness, Will was broad-shouldered, muscled in his arms and chest; a working man, if Hannibal had to guess. His thighs were thick with strength, legs covered in a thin layer of dark hair, his cock nestled in near-black curls that stretched up in a single, thin line to his navel.

He bore a scar, on the back of his right shoulder, and Hannibal thumbed at it curiously. Will tensed, drawing in a quick breath, but otherwise didn't move.

Hannibal's hand flattened, and spread wide across his spine, over the back of his neck, into his hair. "Hide nothing, Will," he reminded him.

Will swallowed, nodding hard enough Hannibal's hand tugged at his hair. "I used to be a policeman," he said quietly. "Got stabbed on the job."

Hannibal nodded, and released him, stepping around to his front. Despite Will's relative stasis, his cock was beginning to harden, blushing red and thick between his thighs. He remembered how Will had shivered at the sound of his voice, and smiled again. Perhaps that would be something to indulge in, later, to see if he could bring Will to orgasm just from speaking.

"Before we begin," he said, making Will's eyes lift to his, "are there any hard limits you have that I should be aware of?"

Will's lips pressed together, he rolled his shoulders, cast his eyes towards the chest of drawers, like he might already know some of what was inside. Hannibal imagined him prowling back into this space when he was not there, making himself more at home, investigating what was inside.

"That shoulder locks up," he said, "so if you want to tie me up I need that arm free, to stretch it." Hannibal nodded. "I need to be able to see. No blindfolds."

An easy enough request. Hannibal's head tilted. "Anything else?"

Will shrugged, and shook his head. "Nothing I'm aware of," he replied, open and honest. His eyes met Hannibal's again, and his lips quirked up in that same stuffed-cat, sated smile, his eyelids growing heavy. "I'm curious to see if you can surprise me."

"Do you like having your limits tested?" Hannibal asked, lifting his chin. That could prove dangerous, for Hannibal was not one to go easy on his companions, and it was easy to see that Will liked a challenge, and wanted to prove himself. "I won't have you damaging yourself for my sake."

"I won't be damaging myself," Will purred. Even as he spoke, a shiver ran down him, and his cock grew harder. "You will."

Hannibal's head tilted. How delightfully intriguing this boy was turning out to be.

"And you?" Will asked. "Is there anything I should be aware of?"

Hannibal smiled. "Only that you must remain open with me, and if I tell you 'No', you will obey without question."

One of Will's brows arched up, his chin lifted, haughty and appraising. His nostrils flared, and then he bowed his head and spread his hands out wide. "As you wish."

Hannibal nodded, and gestured for Will to follow, taking him by the shoulders and pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed. He considered Will, head tilted, and then turned away from him, going to the chest of drawers. He pulled out several tightly-bound coils of relatively coarse black rope, as well as a pair of handcuffs, and a bottle of lubricant. He stepped to one side so Will could see them, noting how his cheeks turned darker, his fingers curled in the bedspread in anticipation, and his cock twitched against his thigh.

"Any protests?" he asked, and Will shook his head, and met his eyes with a challenging look. Hannibal nodded, and took the first coil of rope, unwinding it and running it through his hands as he returned to Will. "Lie back."

Will obeyed, splayed out like some martyr readying himself for the killing stroke. Hannibal took his left arm and stretched it high above his head, then the other, leaning over him as he bound his wrists together, not so tight to cut off circulation, but enough that if Will should pull, it would be uncomfortable. Will looked up, breathing slow and even, his eyes never leaving Hannibal's face. They felt like a brand.

Hannibal finished his knot by looping the ends around one of the slats in the headboard, cinching in tight so Will's body stretched out over the bed, now placed in the center, his feet hanging off the edge of the mattress. "Let me know if you need these released, for your shoulder," Hannibal told him, and Will nodded.

He gathered another pair of ropes, and began his work on Will's right ankle. He bound the rope beneath the arch of his foot, tied his heel tightly to the back of his thigh so that Will's leg was forced into a severe crouching position, and did the same with the other leg, so that Will could not stretch his legs out. The ropes looked lovely on his pale skin, the tightness of them highlighting the bulge of muscle in Will's thighs, the flex of his calves, the strain in his feet as he tried to resist bucking against the binds and putting weight on them like he might in a stirrup. Black was a lovely color on Will, but Hannibal doubted any color would not suit him.

Hannibal smiled. A final piece of rope, he wound around Will's neck, and up to his hands so he couldn't lift his head without choking. The handcuffs found their place in the hollow of Will's throat, and he pulled Will's knees up firmly, until he could loop each cuff through the bindings around his knee each. Like this, Will was spread open and exposed entirely, and Hannibal gently tugged his cock down to between his thighs, so that he could see it, and Will would find no friction in his own body.

Will groaned, already starting to shake from the intense position, his sweat beading behind his knees, below his hairline, darkening and making the strands curl and stick to his face. Hannibal brushed them back, and took his chin in hand.

"Lovely," he murmured, admiring how tense and restrained Will was. It seemed ill-fitting to him, to cage and coil so tightly around such a wild creature, but Will was all the more beautiful for his discomfort. He was a snake-eater that had found a cobra too large and fierce to overcome, and now he was trapped in Hannibal's coils. His brow was pinched in the middle, his breaths steady and purposefully even like he was trying to remain calm.

Hannibal kissed his forehead, and left him to retrieve the lubricant. He knelt on the bed between Will's hanging feet, uncapped the bottle, and slicked his palm with a thick layer of it. Then, without warning, knowing Will's vision was limited by his position, he wrapped his hand around Will's cock and began to stroke him with a tight grip.

Will moaned, his fingers flexing and body trying to arch up into the sensation. Hannibal smiled to himself, pleased to find Will so reactive as he worked him to full hardness, until his cock was a deep red and beginning to leak at the slit. He leaned down, blowing hotly over Will's sensitive flesh, humming in pleasure when Will whined and every muscle in him coiled tight.

He continued to stroke, thumbing under Will's cockhead, pressing with gentle but insistent touches behind his balls, to the sensitive base. He cupped Will's balls and rolled them in his free palm, tightening and quickening his strokes as Will's breathing grew heavy, his body tense, just on the brink of release.

Then, Hannibal let him go entirely, and Will groaned with loss.

He rose from the bed, and went back to the chest of drawers. If his suspicions were correct, and Will had gone snooping around in here, he would not be surprised by anything Hannibal chose to use. He returned with a long, thin cane, and rapped it sharply against one of the bottom bedposts.

Will gasped, and tried to lift his head, but couldn't from how Hannibal had bound him. Still, he gave no protest, no physical or verbal cue for Hannibal to stop. Hannibal stepped up to him, so he could see Will's face, and smiled when Will's black eyes met his own.

"If you ask me to stop, should I?" he asked, remembering Will's insistence that he was essentially up for anything.

Will swallowed, and licked his lips, his eyes flashing down to the cane. He shook his head, and Hannibal tilted his. He dragged the tip of the cane up Will's heaving chest, settled it under his chin and made him lift his head. "I will," he promised, "if you address me by name."

Will's eyes flashed with understanding, and he nodded. Grinned, crooked and fine, and said, "Do your worst."

Hannibal laughed. What a delightful boy – they would soon learn if Will could handle his worst.

He brought the cane down sharply, an expert flick that sent it arcing through the air with a whistle, onto Will's shins between the ropes. Will hissed, hands clenching into fists, muscles in his arms tensing, but said nothing. Hannibal hit him again, an inch up, then peppered his swats down Will's shins until he reached the ropes around Will's ankles.

Will's eyes were turning bright with tears, his face red from pain, but still, no plea for mercy came. Hannibal stepped to the side, and brought the cane down just below the balls of his right foot, and Will snarled, flinching away from the pain, though he couldn't go far.

Hannibal corrected him with a single hand on his knee, and hit his feet again. And again, harder than on his shins, until Will's toes curled and there emerged a neat row of pretty, reddening welts on his soles. He struck Will's heels, and then the tops of each foot three times, and Will groaned, breaths heavy and shuddering, closing his eyes and tipping his head back so he didn't choke.

Hannibal set the cane down, and knelt on the bed again, taking Will's waning erection in his slick hand. He stroked Will back to hardness, and smiled when Will's moans turned breathless again, soft with need. He turned his head, reared between Will's legs, forcing them apart, and bit one of the welts he'd left behind on his shin.

Will hissed, staring at him, but he must like biting more than the cane, for his cock twitched in Hannibal's hand, spurting a weak dribble of precum, and he gasped as Hannibal bit him again, on his other leg, stroking him with long, tight fists.

He kept going, until he felt Will tensing up again, breaths stuttering and stomach tense as he approached his orgasm, and then he released Will completely, and sat back.

Will groaned. "God_ damn _you," he muttered, sounding more petulant than anything else. Hannibal laughed, and rose, taking the cane in hand again.

"It is not God you should be crying out to," he replied, and waited until Will met his eyes again. He looked lovely like that, flushing red on his stomach and chest, ribs standing out in stark relief against his sweaty skin, his lips parted while he gasped to recover his breath. Will huffed an aggravated sigh at his words, his eyes falling to the cane Hannibal still held in his hand. Hannibal followed his gaze, considering it, and then he set it down, returning to the chest of drawers.

From them, he pulled out a thick leather flogger, something intended more for the heavy thudding sensation than a sharper whip. He approached Will again and let him see it, noted how Will's eyes darkened in anticipation and he arched up, exposing as much of himself as he could. Hannibal smiled, and allowed the tails of the flogger to drag down Will's chest, over his knees, down his shins.

He brought the flogger down with in a heavy strike, hitting the soles of Will's feet. Will groaned, closing his eyes, nostrils flaring wide as he sucked in a breath. His wrists rolled, his fingers flexing and spreading out as Hannibal hit him again, coloring the red lines from the cane with a soft splotch of pinkening skin all around them. Hannibal gave him a dozen solid hits on his feet, and smiled at the sight of Will's thick-leaking cock, reddened now to a raw flush. It twitched as he dragged the soft leather tails across it.

Hannibal set the flogger down and knelt between Will's legs, taking his cock in hand again and giving him a series of loose, long strokes. Will moaned in relief, his toes curling as he began to tremble – anticipating Hannibal stopping him, but helplessly reactive all the same. He gasped as Hannibal dragged a nail along the ridge of his cockhead, swept his fingers across his leaking slit, using his precum to wet his shaft.

"Please," Will gasped, a single exhale, hardly a word. Hannibal's smile widened, and he let go again, earning another rough growl from the sweet boy. "_God_, fuck, _please_."

"Did you think it would be this easy?" Hannibal mused aloud, brushing his hands feather-light across Will's caned and beaten legs and feet. He watched as Will forced his eyes open, lifting his head so their gazed could meet. He gave Will a pleased smiled, wide enough to show his teeth.

Will's exhale was heavy, his lashes fluttering as Hannibal took him in hand again and continued to stroke, once he was confident that Will was no longer quite so close to the edge. "No," he growled, tilting his head back. "You wear ease like a mask."

Hannibal hummed. "That's a curious thing to say."

"Am I wrong?"

He laughed. "No, sweet thing, you're not wrong."

Will's stomach tensed as Hannibal used his other hand to gently cup his balls, massaging his perineum and giving light squeezes to the base of his cock, stroking him languidly. He grit his teeth and moaned through them, choking on his inhale as Hannibal squeezed the head of his cock mercilessly, and gently tugged on his balls. There was something wonderfully decadent about bringing Will to the precipice of release and denying him over and over, watching him grow wilder, the young buck with his horns caught in the vines and roots of the forest and struggling to get free. He could think of so many more complicated ways to bind and tease Will, until he screamed. Until he cried. He would look so beautiful with his face all wet and red.

Will grunted, and huffed, the sound sharp for how sudden and urgent it was. "Fuck, I need -. I need my arm free," he said. Hannibal nodded, rising immediately. Will's voice held no shame, nor should it; he had been perfectly clear with his limits. It was a small matter to unbind a single one of his wrists, and Hannibal took it in hand, his other placed behind Will's elbow, making his arm lock. He gently coaxed his arm down, wary of straining it, and Will breathed out a heavy sigh of relief.

Hannibal smiled at him, petting his sweaty hair back from his face, and leaned down to kiss his forehead. "Better?" he asked, and Will nodded. He pressed his lips together, meeting Hannibal's eyes, and reached up, fingertips grazing the edges of Hannibal's mask.

Hannibal caught his wrist and pinned him down before Will could get it into his head to try removing his mask. Will's eyes flashed, and he swallowed, panting heavily when Hannibal smiled at him. Hannibal left him again, growing tired of teasing. Will was primed and ready, a stallion in the starting gate just waiting to feel the spur. From the chest of drawers, he removed a smooth silicone vibrator – small, short, but perfectly bulbous for stimulation – its remote, and another last coil of thin black rope.

He approached Will, and Will looked up at him, his eyes wide as he took in the last toys in Hannibal's hands. Hannibal smiled, and leaned down, cupping Will's chin in a gentle hand, encouraging him to lift it, lips parting in anticipation of a kiss. It was into that welcoming slip of heated air that he pushed the vibrator, and it was wide enough that Will frowned, instinctively trying to push it out with his tongue, but Hannibal locked it behind his teeth and shoved Will's chin up until his incisors sank into the root of it.

"Get it nice and wet," he commanded, and Will's eyes flashed with understanding. He sealed his lips around the toy, cheeks hollowing as he sucked. Hannibal straightened, allowing himself the indulgence of watching Will fellate and soak the toy. Will met his eyes openly, evenly – challenging, almost, daring Hannibal to look away first.

He didn't. He didn't need to look at his hands as he wove the rope together into the familiar pattern. Once the first half was finished, he pulled the vibrator from Will's mouth, and gave him a charming smile, before he kneeled between Will's legs and wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking it back to full hardness where it had waned, from the pain in his shoulder and the distraction of wetting the toy.

Will groaned, stiffening, his toes curling as Hannibal stroked him. Hannibal smiled, and pushed the curved head of the toy against Will's rim. Will gasped, trying to lift his head, and it was easier for him now with an arm free. He met Hannibal's eyes in the small gap between his knees, watching him intently as Hannibal worked the toy into him, slow and gentle, but persistent, until with a heavy gasp, Will's head fell back and his rim loosened enough that Hannibal could work the toy inside of him, smiling as Will's body clamped up behind it eagerly.

He released Will's cock, to another chorus of frustrated growls, that soon turned into a long, choking moan as Hannibal turned the vibrator on. High.

Will's body bowed up sharply, his hips and thighs flexing with the desire to kick out, to stretch, the ropes cutting into him as he struggled uselessly against his bonds. Hannibal smiled and took up the last piece of rope, finishing the little harness. He straddled Will's heaving chest and wrapped it around the back of his neck, hauling him up. Will's eyes flashed to his, wide and dark, and Hannibal opened the halves of his jacket, unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his suit pants, and worked his erection free of his clothing, as he tightened the harness braced at the base of Will's skull and the base of his neck, one finger tight through a hook at each end so he couldn't go lax, and he shoved his cock between Will's parted, red lips.

Will choked around it, but could not pull back. His lashes fluttered, body quivering under Hannibal's, his free hand pinned under Hannibal's leg but able to turn, gripping his ankle firmly. Hannibal smiled, and once he was sure Will was in no position to force him back out, he raked a hand through Will's wild hair and gripped him tightly.

He thrust forward, with enough force that Will's body rolled with the blow, his throat and stomach clenching from the effort it took not to gag, which was only making him tighten and rut against the vibrator. The noises he made were wild and wet, muffled around Hannibal's cock, his cheeks flushed and his eyes half-lidded, bright and dazed.

Hannibal sighed, tilting his head back, content to work Will onto his cock like a wonderfully warm, wet little doll. Will's fingers were tight around his ankle, but he didn't tap, didn't squeeze, gave no indication that he needed to stop.

"Next time," Hannibal breathed, "you will arrive early, and I will mark you properly."

He pulled out just long enough for Will to cough, panting raggedly, and rasp; "Yes, Sir." Hannibal smiled, and gripped Will's chin with the hand in the harness, admiring the way his neck bulged and grew red around the knots of rope. He forced Will's mouth open and pushed his cock between his lips again, and Will moaned, loudly, panting and shuddering beneath his weight as he found a way to arch his back, hips rutting down onto the bed, urging the toy against his prostate.

Hannibal snarled, and pulled back abruptly, stroking himself as his thighs tensed, knees drawing in. He gripped Will's hair and tilted his head up, and back, baring his red throat and his bruised mouth, hanging open so he could take in as much air as possible as he recovered. Hannibal's jaw clenched, and he came with a low sound over Will's face. He painted Will's jaw, his mouth, his rose-red cheek and over his throat. He followed each spurt with his cock, rutting against Will's tender flesh as he finished marking the boy up.

Will whimpered, when he was done, his eyes holding almost no blue in them anymore, his body trembling finely as the vibrator continued buzzing away. Hannibal sighed, and wiped his cock on Will's collarbone, before he tucked himself back in, and rose from Will's chest.

Then, with particular care, he put the cane and flogger away, and the bottle of lubricant. Will's lashes fluttered, and he frowned, letting out a dazed, fucked-out sound of confusion. Hannibal smiled at him, and returned to his place between Will's knees. He worked the vibrator out of him, and turned it off, setting it to one side.

Will's frown deepened, when Hannibal made no move to touch him.

"Did you think we were done?" Hannibal asked, laughing. He tapped Will's cock sharply with two fingers, making Will hiss, eyes narrowing and jaw bulging at the corner. "I intend to see you thoroughly used by the end of the night, sweet boy."

Will's upper lip twitched, and he stifled a snarl, nostrils flaring as he breathed out.

"But I'll give you a choice," Hannibal said mildly. He wrapped his fingers around Will's cock, stroking once, and Will moaned weakly, head tipping back. "I will work you to orgasm, or I will take off my mask. Which would you prefer?"

Will groaned, heavy with aggravation, and Hannibal smiled. He lifted his head, meeting Will's glaring eyes. Will's free hand clenched, lips pressing together. He could probably taste Hannibal's seed on his tongue, it was likely going to dry soon and start bothering him, but his eyes met Hannibal's with fierce, dogged focus.

"Take off your mask," he said. Assured. No hesitation.

Hannibal's brows rose, but he bowed his head in acceptance, releasing Will's cock. He stood, and worked the straps of his mask over the top of his head, pulling it away from his face. The introduction of more light in his periphery, no longer shielded by the mask's brow and cheeks, made him blink while his eyes adjusted.

When he looked at Will again, he saw Will grinning. Will reached for him, and Hannibal set the mask to one side, kneeling by him, and allowed Will to pull him down into a kiss by his tie.

"That's more like it," Will rasped into his mouth, fucked-out and raw with unanswered desire. Hannibal's lips twitched in an aborted smile, and he leaned down to kiss Will again, relishing the taste of himself on Will's lips, the stench of him dousing Will's skin.

"I think you must quite enjoy suffering, given the choices you made," he said mildly. He straightened, and returned to the chest of drawers. It was time for the next part of the fun to begin.

Will's laugh was low and triumphant. Hannibal turned to watch him run a hand through his hair. "It got me what I wanted," he replied, smug, his eyes on the ceiling. Hannibal's brows rose, and he hummed, turning away again. "A peek behind the curtain."

"I assure you, not quite so mysterious," Hannibal said, smiling despite himself. "My face is just a face, Will."

"No, it's your last face. The last mask you wear over what you're really made of." Hannibal turned to him again, head tilted curiously, to find Will smiling at him. Bound as he was, with his dark eyes and red cheeks and mouth, the stain of Hannibal on his face, he looked like some portrait of the most evocative muse. The kind of man who could enslave others to his passion with a mere look.

It was enthralling, utterly delicious, to see him like that. Hannibal's mouth went dry.

"Do you intend to unmask me even further then, Will?"

Will hummed. "I can only try."

"I suppose that's true," Hannibal conceded, and turned to Will again, smiling. He had the muzzle in his hand – as delightful as Will's conversation and sharp tongue were, Hannibal would much rather hear him as an animal for a while.

He slid the mask into place on Will's face, sealing his own seed against Will's skin, and bound his arm up again. "If you need it released, or need me to stop, tap two fingers against the headboard," he said. "I'll be watching."

Will nodded, breathing hard, trembling under Hannibal's greedy touch, his wandering hands. He smiled, and brought the cane back out.

"Shall we?"

Will blinked at him, settling, fingers flexing in readiness. He met Hannibal's eyes in challenge, and cried out, loud and hoarse, when the first strike came down.

"My, my, Hannibal, this is quite a surprise!"

Hannibal smiled, his fingers gently petting through the wild mess of curls belonging to the boy at his feet. Will did not kneel, but sat, his back to one of Hannibal's legs, chin tilted back so he could watch the room and still leave his neck and hair open for the occasional pet. His mask with its little horns covered the top half of his face, but the bottom was in the shape of a muzzle. The innards of it were streaked with dried trails of off-white; Hannibal promised he would mark Will properly, and if the come-filled muzzle wasn't enough, the bruises and bitemarks splattered across Will's neck would certainly do the trick.

Will blinked up at the red queen, and smiled in greeting. Her fawn crept up to him, crouching down so she could rub her forehead against his. Will hummed, closing his eyes, and let her nuzzle him until Hannibal's hand tightened, and he pulled his head away and back to rest on his thigh.

Then, his eyes snapped open, and he tilted his head. He rose to his feet, Hannibal's hand falling from him, and met Hannibal's eyes. Will could still speak, with the muzzle on, though Hannibal had found, after a while, he preferred not to. His fingers tapped together, nervously fidgeting, and he looked towards one of the doors leading to another room.

Hannibal smiled. "Go on, darling," he said. "Make your rounds." Will nodded, and gave him a wide, charming smile, before he left, prowling like a wildcat to circle the house and make sure everyone was behaving as they should and sticking to their numbers. Hannibal's eyes, his ears; his will, in more than just name.

"And here I thought you would never settle down," the red queen said, gesturing to her fawn. Hannibal smiled, and lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug.

"Sometimes it is the most surprising lures that end up catching the fish," he replied, and stood. "But, forgive me, I've forgotten my manners. Would you like anything to drink?"

The red queen smiled, and nodded. "That would be lovely. Lead the way."


End file.
